Shiver
by half agony and hope
Summary: "So instead of pushing her away, my arms tighten around her, and I pull her body across mine as I recline on the couch, laying us both down so I can sleep beside her. I kiss her again, my lips brushing over the top of her head as she lays on my chest. She shivers against me."
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Thanks to everyone for your continued support of my stories! As promised, I'm sticking around - I'm planning on really beginning work on the third multichapter of the _Into the Blue_ trilogy today, so look out for that sometime in the next couple weeks!**

 **This is for a guest reviewer who asked for a domestic scene between Jane and Lisbon. I tried to keep things vague (no mentions of timelines or specific events) so that every reader could fit it in canon where they felt it should be.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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Shiver

Lisbon's words are slurring together in a way I've come to associate with sheer exhaustion. She doesn't mumble very often, and I'm suddenly aware of a tangible change in the night air as we sit together, shoulder to shoulder on her couch. Of all the nights we've spent pouring over the Red John files in her office, something is different about this one.

I look over at her, and—sure enough—she's struggling to keep her eyes open. Instead of nudging her awake, as is my first instinct, I begin to speak in the low, calm voice I use when trying to take someone under for hypnosis. I'm not trying to hypnotize her, just get her to sleep. Though she hides it well, I know it's been a long time since she's slept through the night. Red John has seen to that.

Lisbon's breathing changes, and she mumbles again, the words unintelligible and possibly not real words at all. I grab the file she'd been reading before it can slip out of her hands and lean forward to put it on her desk beside me.

She must feel me move, however, because the mumbling becomes more intense, and my name actually escapes from her lips. " _Jane_ ," she says in the faintest whisper, and she fidgets in her sleep and shifts towards my side of the couch. I place her file and mine on her desk and sit down once again in the spot I'd just vacated. Lisbon lets out a deep breath, as though she'd been holding it while I was away from her, and her head falls from the back of the couch onto my shoulder.

She says my name again, and I call on every biofeedback technique I know to prevent the shivers that threaten to erupt up and down my spine.

I'm worried about her. I mean, I always have been, but today it's worse than normal. I can't shake the feeling that, somehow, my actions today have put her in more danger than ever before.

I just have no idea what I've done to elicit the feeling.

Frustrated, I mentally walk myself through the day, trying to figure out what event had acted as the catalyst. We hadn't even had time to discuss Red John and the newest developments on that case until dinner, when I'd brought her takeout and we'd sat down together to reread the files for the seemingly hundredth time.

We hadn't found anything new. At least, not yet.

Perhaps it's the case we'd been working on before, then? The murder of a new CEO had seemed unrelated to Red John—but maybe there's a connection I'm missing.

I think about the events of the morning. Rigsby and Cho had tried to interview the wife, who had—predictably—not handled the news of her husband's death very well. They'd only been married a year—and they had a newborn daughter. Grace had unsuccessfully tried to calm the wailing infant before Lisbon had rolled her eyes, reached for the baby girl, and tucked her into her arms.

It always amazes me to see Lisbon with children. Maybe it's because I expect her to be the tough, cold cop and am surprised to see caring, protective Lisbon take over instead. I forget sometimes that she was responsible for raising her three brothers.

She'll make a great mother someday.

Though I know outwardly she shows no desire to begin a family, it's something she's thought about. I imagine it's something she's never allowed herself to hope for because her job has always come first.

However, it's also something she deserves more than anyone I know.

I frown. It's tough to admit it, but it dawns on me that I'm part of the reason Lisbon doesn't have a family of her own. My obsessive search for Red John has also become hers. If it hadn't been for me, she might have given up the case a long time ago. But she's still trying to save me. I know she hasn't given up hope that, if we can get rid of Red John, I'll be able to have a normal life again someday.

And I begin to hope that she can have the same thing.

I picture Lisbon holding a baby girl with dark brown curls and green eyes. Lisbon's smile is radiant. If only I could elicit that smile.

I tense against Lisbon as I realize that I _have_ prompted that smile. Multiple times, in fact. Lisbon shifts again in her sleep, turning towards me, and mumbles my name again.

"Jane."

And a sudden thought occurs to me.

What if _I_ was the one to give her a normal life? What if she could have a normal life…with _me_?

For me, it's an obvious conclusion to draw. If I'm ever going to move on from Angela, I need to find someone who can accept my past and move past it with me. I need someone who knows about the baggage I carry.

Lisbon is all of those things. In fact, most of the time she _helps_ me carry the baggage.

But could I be those things for her? Lisbon deserves someone who will adore her and worship her. She deserves someone who is head over heels in love with her.

Another obvious conclusion. Though I haven't told her as much, I already adore her and worship her. I am already head over heels in love with her. I am already hers.

This time, I cannot stop the shiver as it makes it way up my spine.

It's almost a relief to admit these things, at least to myself. I've been repressing them for so long.

And it hits me again exactly _why_ I've been repressing these feelings.

Of course.

Because of Red John.

Red John must never find out the extent of my feelings for Lisbon. Finally, I understand the strange feeling I'd experienced earlier.

My falling in love with Lisbon has drawn a target on her back, her forehead, her heart. Those crosshairs will follow her everywhere.

I shiver again but shift to hide it. I place one arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me, her cheek coming to rest upon my collarbone. I kiss her hair lightly, the faintest of touches.

I need to start making more plans. I'm a good conman, but so is Red John. I might not be able to fool him for very long. If he figures out I have a weakness, he'll waste no time in acting. I'll need to be able to ensure Lisbon's safety.

I'm scared for us both—I'm scared for her safety and scared for myself because I don't think I'll be able to survive losing her.

I frown again. The most obvious thing to do to ensure her survival is push her away—distance myself from her and her team.

But I'm a selfish bastard, and I think that would destroy me.

Not to mention the pain it would cause her. I'd be putting her through hell.

Lisbon's hand comes up to rest over my heart as she sleeps on. I'll figure out something. I always do.

So instead of pushing her away, my arms tighten around her, and I pull her body across mine as I recline on the couch, laying us both down so I can sleep beside her. I have no doubts sleep will come easily with her next to me.

I kiss her again, my lips brushing over the top of her head as she lays on my chest.

She shivers against me.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks for the kind words regarding the first chapter of _Shiver_. I had originally intended for it to be a oneshot, but then inspiration took over. And I began to wonder...what would Lisbon's thoughts be during this moment? What if she wasn't _really_ asleep? Anyway, this should be the last chapter to this short little fic, unless I change my mind again! Hope you all enjoy it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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Shiver

The words on the file I'm reading come in and out of focus. Trying to keep myself awake, I ask Jane a question, focusing on his warmth and steadiness beside me as we sit side by side on the couch in my office. Maybe I'll just close my eyes. Take a short break.

I barely hear Jane answer me. I'm already in the twisted limbo between consciousness and sleep.

Words come out of my mouth, but I can't be sure what I'm saying. I'm a sleep-talker—my brothers always made fun of me for it when we were little.

My whole body feels sluggish, like slowly oozing honey, and I can't control my muscles as sleep threatens to pull me under.

Suddenly, the file I'm holding disappears from my hands, as does the warmth from my side. My muddled brain puts two and two together and makes four—Jane has taken the file from my grip and leaned over to put it on my desk.

Jane.

 _Jane._

I'm uncomfortable without him at my side, and I can't stop myself from reaching for him. A second later, his warmth returns, and I lean into him. The muscles in my neck relax, and I can't keep my head up any longer: it comes to rest on his shoulder.

 _Jane_.

He hasn't been sleeping well recently. I mean, he _never_ sleeps well—but his insomnia has gotten worse. And I worry about him when I'm not with him. I know he sits in his attic for hours on end, mentally going over the Red John files. Sometimes I worry so much that I debate calling him at night just to check in. Sometimes I even think about driving halfway across the city at two in the morning to make sure he's alright.

Sometimes I wonder if he'd sleep better if he were beside me.

Though Jane can be obnoxious when he wants to be—and even when he doesn't want to be—his presence beside me is soothing. I trust him implicitly. Between the two of us, there's no situation we haven't thought through. Our meticulous brains have thought about every possible scenario and prepared for every possible outcome. I always feel like I'm missing something when we're apart—like our souls are complimentary and can't function without the other.

A different kind of soulmate, if you will.

Because I'm under no delusions that his romantic soulmate—at least as far as he's concerned—will always be Angela.

I allow myself a few seconds to be deluded, however. Under this delusion, Red John has disappeared, and Jane and I are able to move on with our lives.

Together.

The most intense vision passes before my eyes: I look down, and in my arms is a baby girl, perhaps a few months old, with dark curls and green eyes. I look up, and Jane is smiling brilliantly at me.

Real-life Jane tenses beside me, and suddenly I'm very much awake. I try to keep my breathing even, however. He's so warm besides me. If I wake up, I'll shatter the illusion—the _delusion_ , I remind myself—and for the sake of professionalism I'll have to move away from him.

So I feign sleep a little longer, shifting and mumbling his name again for added effect, and allow the delusion to continue.

How completely ridiculous is this vision I have? How far-fetched is it, really? Is it so difficult to imagine that—if Red John were gone—Jane and I could build a life together?

I don't like the answer to those questions, but I continue along the line of thought regardless of the pain it will cause me. It's so easy to pretend that everything will work out in the end. It's so easy to admit that I'm head over heels in love with Jane.

Unfortunate, really, that he's still head over heels in love with his wife.

I have no doubt that Jane loves me as well—I've seen it in the way he looks at me, in the way he tries to protect me.

It's too easy to pretend that that kind of love will be enough for me.

But it has to be—because for me, there's no one else but Jane. And that's all he can give.

Jane shivers next to me, and for the first time, I wonder what's going through his mind at the moment. Surely his thoughts can't parallel my own? I wish I could read him as well as he can read me.

He shivers again, and I am nearly startled out of my feigned unconsciousness when he puts an arm around me and pulls me closer to him.

Jane is not demonstrative. That's something we seem to share. We hardly ever touch each other; displays of affection are almost taboo. His arms around me feel strange and familiar all at once. He must be worried about me. I lean into him, still faking sleep, to set him at ease.

And then, so light I'm barely sure it really happened, I feel it—the lightest of kisses pressed into my hair.

I can't stop the hope that begins to build.

Without thinking about it, I move my arm so that my hand comes to rest over his heart. His heartbeat is strong and reassuring, if a bit fast. I file that thought away to dissect later.

I half-expect Jane to push me away at this point. We're too close. Much too close. We don't do this. It's not who we are. Instead, I'm floored when his arms tighten around me, and he pulls my body across his so that I lay on his chest.

Finally, we will both get a good night's sleep.

He kisses my hair once more, and I cannot pretend any longer.

I shiver against him.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/followed _State of Grace_ (and the entire _Into the Blue_ trilogy). I miss updating that series already! **

**Here's the final (I think) chapter for _Shiver_. I know I had promised it to you guys a while ago, and I hope you all enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

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Shiver

For the first time in what feels like years, I sleep through the night.

Well, most of it. I wake up just before dawn, Lisbon's breath tickling my neck, and I know she's already awake, has been for some time. Strange.

She hasn't pulled away. Instead, she's still next to me, still tucked against my side. It's not what I had expected.

I don't know how to handle the revelation.

So I just lay there for a few minutes, acutely aware of every point of contact between her body and my own.

At some point during the night, the first two buttons on my shirt had come undone, and as Lisbon shifts against me now, her cheek rests against the bare skin of my chest. This particular contact of her skin upon my own is what ultimately does me in—I'm not used to this level of intimacy, and with Lisbon, it frightens me. I breathe in sharply.

"Shhh," says Lisbon immediately, responding to the new tension in my body as I become aware of my surroundings. "It's alright; you're alright."

I open my eyes and find her office is still dark. Though by the looks of it, dawn is about to break at any second.

Our eyes meet, and I catch my breath again. Even barely awake, Lisbon is radiant—all red lips and bright eyes.

"You're still here." It's obvious, but I can't think of anything else to say.

She props herself up on my chest so that she can look down at me. "Yeah," she says. "I am." She ducks her head suddenly, and I can see the blush that colors her cheeks.

"I'm glad," I say, and I'm rewarded with a tentative, unsure smile.

"Me too," is her reply, and my heart begins to thump forcefully under her hand.

She notices.

Lisbon looks down at my chest curiously, as though surprised to find my heart is still functional after all these years, after the beating it has taken. I watch her with the same curiosity, and I can pinpoint the exact moment I know she's up to something.

She leans toward me, keeping her hand over my heart, and brings her lips down to mine.

My heart begins to beat faster still.

Lisbon continues to move closer, until our lips barely touch. It's not a kiss; it's a caress. My heart thumps loudly, embarrassingly, betrayingly, underneath her hand.

"I thought so," she says, her lips moving against mine.

My heart explodes, and I can feel her smile against me.

"Discover what you were hoping for?" I ask, my tone far more confident that I actually am. I don't give her time to answer, instead grabbing her hips and switching our positions so that her back is pressed into the couch and I hover over her. She nods underneath me. "Well, then," I say, and this time I put my hand on her chest to feel her heartbeat.

It's firm and steady.

But as I close the distance between us, it becomes increasingly erratic.

She moans as our lips connect for real this time, and her heart skips under my hand. Without thinking about it, my fingers begin to work on the buttons of her shirt, exposing porcelain skin.

Unable to stand the distance between us, I lower myself so that she's pinned between me and the couch, her entire body flush against mine. She moans again, and she whispers my name into the silence.

" _Patrick_."

I freeze. Then I retreat, and suddenly I'm across the room, my back leaning against cool glass. I breathe heavily, and Lisbon sits up, looking confused. Her lips are swollen. I can't meet her eyes.

"Jane?"

I shake my head, feeling panicky, and slide down against the glass so that I'm sitting on the floor. "I can't," I whisper. "I'm sorry— _I can't_."

She quickly buttons up her shirt and smooths down her hair. In typical Lisbon fashion, she is unconcerned with how I've just hurt her—instead, she is solely focused on me.

Because she's seen the look of panic on my face, and she knows that something is wrong.

She moves over to me slowly and kneels down in front of me. I pull my knees up to my chest and duck my head.

"Jane?" she says again, this time a little softer.

I'm still breathing deeply as I answer her. "Sorry," I mumble. "It's just that—" I exhale loudly. This is going to be more difficult than I'd thought.

I try again. "It's just been a long time," I finally manage. "I mean, since anyone has said my name like that. Like…like I matter. Or like I belong to them. I'd forgotten what it felt like—it was overwhelming, that's all."

I lean my head forward on my knees again, and one of Lisbon's hands comes up to run through my hair.

"And?" she prompts.

There's nothing for it—I can't hide from her.

I sigh again. "It was real," I mumble to my kneecaps, my words muffled. "But it _can't_ be real, what we're feeling right now—because if it was, _he'd_ find out, and he'd take you away and I couldn't survive that again—and oh God, Lisbon, _he can't have you, too_."

The words pour out of me, falling around us like summer rain, and the room feels like it's quaking before I realize that it's me who's trembling.

And then I feel warmth. Lisbon has moved over to sit beside me, and her arms encircle me. My forehead still rests on my knees.

I feel Lisbon's lips on the nape of my neck, and I can't help the involuntary shiver that races down my spine. Lisbon breathes out slowly, and I look up at her.

"That sounded like a sigh of relief," I note, confused, and I search her face for answers but find none.

"That's because it was," she says quietly.

I blink at her. "You're relieved?" I say. "After that major freak-out I just had—you're relieved?"

"I can handle Red John," explains Lisbon softly. "If you'd panicked because you weren't ready to move on, or because you were thinking of Angela—well, there's nothing I can do about that."

" _No_ ," I say forcefully. "No, it wasn't about that. I'm ready to move on—I _want_ to move on. More to the point, I want to move on _with you_." I look over at her, and her image is blurry. I blink but only succeed in spilling the tears over onto my face rather than dispelling them. "I want to move on, Lisbon, but I can't. I can't as long as Red John is a threat."

Her eyebrows furrow, and from the intensity of her glare I get the feeling that she's waited a long time to have this conversation with me.

"Why the hell not?" she says.

"You know why," I whisper.

Lisbon leans back, and her head bangs against the glass slightly harder than I think she had intended. "Damn it, Jane—that's not a good enough reason!"

I look over at her, aghast. "Really?" I say, not bothering to hide the sarcasm dripping from my words. "Saving your life isn't a good enough reason not to be together?"

Her eyes flash at me. "It might not make a difference," she says furiously. "What if he kills me anyway, despite your attempts to push me away? Then we'd miss out on all that happiness, Jane! We walk through the damn darkness every single day. Don't you think we deserve some light?"

"Of course you do, Lisbon," I say, my words shaky. "Of course you do."

"You do, too, Jane!" Lisbon says, and she groans. I can practically feel the frustration emanating from her. "I'm so tired of living in a world ruled by Red John. Why can't _we_ make the rules now? Jane, he took your life away from you once before—don't let him do it again."

She's nearly broken my defenses, and she knows it. I look over at her helplessly.

"If we were together, and something happened to you…" I trail off, not able to complete the thought.

"It wouldn't be your fault—or mine. You have to accept that." She swipes at a couple of teardrops. "We could be so happy, Jane," she says, half-smiling at me, and I know she's picturing a future—our future.

"I don't know if I could live with myself if something happened," I say, one last feeble attempt to argue against her.

"But you would have _lived_ ," says Lisbon emphatically. "No matter what happens to me, you would have lived, you would have loved, and you would have been loved. And that's something that Red John can't take away from you—it's something he'll never be able to understand."

The last of the walls crumble, and her warmth rushes in to surround me.

"You love me?" I ask, stupefied.

She rolls her eyes and wipes away another tear. "Of course I do, Jane. How could you not know by now?"

I take her into my arms then, terrified and elated and petrified all at the same time. When her lips touch mine, I finally begin to understand what she's been trying to tell me.

I love Lisbon, and it's long past time that I be able to do so freely.

I pull back from her, and I rest my forehead against hers, unable to open my eyes just yet. When I finally do, Lisbon is staring at me, her eyes locked on mine.

"I love you, too," I say out loud for the first time in years.

Lisbon smiles and I shiver as the words echo around us.


End file.
